


Crying

by magiclaud



Series: Inktober [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, Creepy, Crying, Dark Alfred, Darktalia, Distress, Goretober, Halloween, Inktober 2017, M/M, Model AU, Obsession, Photography, UKUS, USUK - Freeform, alfred jones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magiclaud/pseuds/magiclaud
Summary: 'And Arthur’s face lights up, despite the tears, despite the sobs, and Alfred can’t think of anything more beautiful than such a desperate expression of raw emotion. ' USUK. Day 1 of Inktober.





	Crying

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so I did an inktober/goretober writing drabbles and I'll be posting them whenever I have time (I'm actually ditching an essay to write this, LOL. 
> 
> Anyway, this was day 1, and the prompt was crying.

**Snap**

 

Alfred looks through the lens. His objective is kneeling, so near Alfred can smell the scent of the man before him. His hands are shaking lightly, which makes some parts of the picture blurred. But Alfred is aware of what he puts his focus on. He thrives the look, the message of those eyes, and the tears…

 

**Snap**

“Jones, the break is over. What are you waiting for?”

Alfred quickly changes the lens of his camera. He walks through the studio, more professional than the one he has at home, but also shallow, stiff. Impersonal. Once he is in place again Alfred greets the model. They are tall, with fair hair and eyes even bluer than his. Their face is proportionate, too, and the big white smile they are wearing enhances their features. Even so, as Alfred takes the pictures he notices the plainness of the situation; the lack of something interesting that caresses your soul and makes your bones tremble. He needs something authentic. 

 

**Snap**

The sunset takes over the sky.   
As Alfred gathers his things, a model stands next to him. When she inches closer, Alfred notices a small birthmark on her upper lip. However, after the manager’s insistence, the mark is safely covered under lotions.

She has a fine face, Alfred supposes. It is round but not chubby, with golden eyes and thin lips that curve with her smile. Her voice is like everything he’s heard before. Her laugh, high pitched, echoes in his mind as she grabs his shoulder to gain his attention.

“We should meet again,” she says. “It’s not every day that I see a young photographer like you, and a good one nonetheless,” she is a smooth talker. They walk together to the studio’s entrance.

“I am merely an assistant,” Alfred doesn’t want to acknowledge his work there. From his eyes, he doesn’t see the pride in producing any of those images.

“Well, I’m not an expert but I think the photos are good.”

Alfred snorts. He puts his scarf on before leaving the building and walks beside her. “Of course they are. They wouldn’t hire someone that can’t take pictures, for God’s sake.”

She looks taken aback. Alfred sighs. He knows he’ll get into trouble if she talks to his boss.

“I mean, with a pretty sight like you are, any photography would look great,” he says, slipping his Southern accent to add effect to his husky voice.   
Now he sees her smile. Alfred inevitably flinches. She gives him a phone number and tells him to call her, and they both part their ways.

Alfred doesn’t even register the model’s name.

 

**Snap**

They meet at the street.

Alfred is leaving his regular café when he stumbles across someone. Clearly, the other person wasn’t looking, as he falls down along with Alfred’s camera.

“Hey!” Alfred quickly grabs the item before it falls on the road. He is about to ask the man what the hell was he doing but he freezes when he finds those green glassy eyes staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” the man blurts out. He then avoids Alfred’s gaze, as if he would get hurt. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t see you and —oh dear, please don’t tell me that I broke your camera,” Alfred isn’t sure he heard correctly half of the stranger’s rambling. It doesn’t matter. Words don’t matter now. They don’t matter as Alfred stays there, mesmerized, looking at the man’s red face.

“Are you okay?” Alfred asks, gentler than he’d ever been in his whole life while helping the man get up. He must be twenty-something, the same as Alfred, although he is more slender. Only then does Alfred notice he is holding something against his thigh, and the whole scene becomes even more bizarre.

“The roses are lovely,” as Alfred says this, the man proceeds to hide them more. “May I ask who they were for? I don’t mean to pry,” he adds. The man gulps then look at the flowers, hunches his shoulders, and looks back at Alfred.

“T-They were for my, uh, for my date,” Alfred nods with sympathy. The man quickly adds something. “I’m not crying because of them, you see. It’s just that this day has been jolly shite, uh, sorry for the language,” as he talks more, Alfred discovers he’s British. He leans forward, indulging himself by looking thoroughly at the man in front of him. Then, he extends his hand.

“I’m Alfred.”

“Uh, Arthur.”

“Why are you crying, Arthur?” Arthur looks down. The tears are drying on his face, and he is breathing harshly.

Eventually, he answers.

“Because I’m not pretty.”

Alfred almost gasps. He looks at Arthur, at his thick eyebrows and his sad eyes, at the freckles he doesn’t even make an effort in hiding. But the focus, the focus on this man, of his eyes, are the tears.   
“No, you’re not pretty; no,” Alfred says. “You’re beautiful.”

And Arthur’s face lights up, despite the tears, despite the sobs, and Alfred can’t think of anything more beautiful than such a desperate expression of raw emotion.

 

**Snap**

Alfred loves taking pictures.

After months of using his talent in plain and boring advertisements, Alfred never knew he could feel so alive doing what he once loved.

But oh, he was wrong, Alfred smirks, as he takes another picture and the sound of the camera merges with the sound of the muffled cries of his companion.

“Very good, baby. Excellent,” Alfred coos. Arthur’s face twists in disgust and Alfred snaps again. This man is perfect —absolutely perfect, and has given Alfred a new project that he can be passionate about. The only trouble remains when Arthur struggles against the bonds, but Alfred doesn’t hesitate.

A great photo can’t be taken without a little challenge, and Arthur’s vivid green eyes are better than any of the blank looks of the other _guests._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy reviews. *winks*


End file.
